


A small kindness

by twofrontteethstillcrooked



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Brothers with issues, Declan Lynch is not a bad guy, M/M, Ronan/Adam UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 11:16:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4057966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofrontteethstillcrooked/pseuds/twofrontteethstillcrooked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Declan, by helping Adam, learns something about Ronan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A small kindness

**Author's Note:**

> 1 June 2015 snippetfic for Sit the Fuck Down and Write Month (goal: write something every day for 10 minutes). (This took an hour, roughly.)

The last thing Declan Lynch wanted to do this evening was return to Monmouth Manufacturing and spend another five minutes not punching his brother in the face. Ronan wasn't the kind of brother who asked for a beating as much as he was the sort who insisted on it.

Unfortunately for both of them, since they'd been trained by the same father, he and Declan weren't different enough when sparring, or, rather, their differences ended up being complementary: Ronan was wirier, Declan more muscular, and their strengths -- Declan's bulk, Ronan's complete lack of etiquette -- made for long, bloody matches with no clear winner.

This sounded, of course, like there was anything legitimate about the way they brawled, anything healthy, fraternal, or playful, as though they were still brothers who boxed the same way some brothers flew kites or raced dirt bikes or ever had conversations that didn't contain enough vehement profanity to cause a flock of nuns to burst into flames.

So it was never Declan's plan to do or say anything that would provoke a fight: not because Ronan didn't deserve a beat down, but because Declan didn't. He wasn't perfect but he knew that about himself even if Ronan wouldn't have agreed.

Declan sighed as he pulled his Volvo over by the curb in front of the First of Virginia bank branch. Okay, Ronan didn't deserve an ass-kicking either, or at least not as much of one as Declan sometimes thoroughly wished he could provide.

Ten minutes ago Declan had stalked out of Monmouth without in any way wiping the sneer off Ronan's mouth; he'd extracted another promise of better attendance and at least a B average at Aglionby, blah blah blah. They both knew this was the one thing Ronan would lie about every time, but it was as much of a peace offering as he was willing to submit to. Declan had kept his hands to his sides, Ronan only baited him three or four times, and even Noah, sitting in the middle of the room on Gansey's bed, had seemed...less creepily translucent than usual.

Maybe having witnesses made Ronan less likely to throw a punch. It hadn't in the past, though everyone was allowed to mature, Declan supposed.

Leave the engine running/turn the engine off? Didn't really matter. Declan hoped this wouldn't take long. The evening had been the closest thing to a success he'd achieved with Ronan in months.

He opened the car door and stepped up to the curb.

"Hello," he said.

Adam Parrish stumbled -- he hadn't seen Declan. The way the light from the streetlamp fell hollowed out Adam's eyes; he was deathly pale and there was a sheen of sweat at his throat. Declan put a steadying hand on his elbow and Adam looked at him like he couldn't remember his own name or Declan's.

Declan had and had not thought something was wrong when he'd pulled over. It was weird to realize it now that he was this close to Adam, to note that some instinct had told him it was probably not good news that had Adam out walking too slowly down a Henrietta sidewalk at midnight.

"Where you headed?" Declan asked. Adam kept looking at him with those shadowed eyes, his face colorless, expressionless.

"Hello," Declan repeated, squeezing down on Adam's elbow. _"Adam."_

Adam swallowed, tipped his head a little. The shadows angled away, and Adam made a choked little noise.

"Declan?" His voice was fucked up, like he'd caught strep or been screaming his head off.

"Yeah," Declan said, not relieved. "Are you hurt?"

Adam shrugged off his grip. "How did you." He stopped, glanced up at the bank's brass facade. "Where are we?"  
  
"Main and 9th, I think." A good twenty blocks from St. Agnes, Monmouth, or anywhere else Adam might normally tend to be this time of night.

"I guess I must've walked." He gazed down the street. "I must've left the car..."

"Adam," Declan said again, more sharply, "are you hurt?"

Adam looked at him for a long moment. "No," he said finally. It was not convincing.

"Can I give you a lift somewhere?" A roiling green feeling was settling in Declan's stomach.

"No," Adam said, his voice faint as he turned to start walking again, "that's okay."

"I don't think you should be alone right now. I think I should take you to Monmouth," Declan said in his calmest, most diplomatic voice. As an aide he'd once had to convince Senator Robinson's 98-year-old mother that she would absolutely have to put her shoes and skirt back on before they left the office but that he was sorry about it and understood her concerns about the CIA bugs and the radio waves from Jupiter. The Senator told him later he'd make a great ambassador to the UN.

Adam seemed to be considering Declan's offer seriously.

"Okay," he agreed. "Yeah." He wouldn't look at Declan again, though.

Declan drove as quickly as he could, hoping none of the local redneck cops had set up any blasted speed traps. Adam stared out the windows.

By the time they were squealing into Monmouth's lot, Declan was wondering if he should call Gansey, who was in DC with his parents but who long-distance might be more useful than Ronan would be within the same building. Declan wasn't sure this ghostly blank-eyed Adam would be able to withstand any of Ronan's typical solutions to problems, like physical violence or music that qualified as such.

Declan turned off the Volvo. "We're here," he said after waiting a full thirty seconds.

Adam, his fingertips on the passenger side windowpane, said something so quietly Declan couldn't hear him.

"Sorry?" Declan said.

"Nothing," Adam said.

Declan got out of the car, hoping to set an example. Adam followed, that not-quite-awake expression still on his face. One after the other they climbed the stairs to Monmouth's door, which swung open when Declan was almost to the top. Ronan's face was full of thunder until he spotted Adam.

Ronan wrenched Declan out of the way and stomped past him to meet Adam. Ronan's instincts were clearly way faster than Declan's about the general state of Adam Parrish.

"I'm okay," Adam said, backing down a step. He said it, Declan thought, as much to himself as he did to Ronan.

"Bullshit," Ronan said, and he sounded a little scared. Declan saw him reach out a hand and pull it away at the last second. "What's happened?" Ronan said. His tone caught at Declan; he sounded lost.

Something terrible, is what's happened, Declan thought.

Adam closed his eyes.

Ronan stepped down until he was side by side with Adam.

"Tell me," Ronan whispered.

Adam looked up at Ronan then. The dim light from the open door was brighter where it shone in the tracks on Adam's cheeks. Declan held his breath.

"My father's dead," Adam said.

Twelve steps away, Declan could hardly hear him. He felt the words more than heard them, in fact, and saw them land on Ronan like fists. Ronan stood very still, unflinching, and in not moving away appeared to anchor Adam. Adam was shaking, but he was _there_. Ronan's trembling hand rose again; Declan watched him lay his left palm on the side of Adam's neck as gently as he would cradle a baby bird or mouse, as gently as he'd held Matthew when he was an infant and Ronan was barely more than a baby himself.

Of all the fucking things, Declan thought. My brother loves someone.

 

**Author's Note:**

> eta 3 june 2015
> 
> so, this might be end up being a longer multi-POV story? Next part -- I think it's the next part? -- [lives here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4067878)
> 
> (this write-every-day stuff is weird *g*)


End file.
